Free
by FlorMorada
Summary: There comes a time when it all becomes too much, and there's only so much more you can do. Sometimes, you just have to leave the world, and do what you know's best for you. (Unintentional rhyme…lol.) Single chapter. "Bat", if you want it to be.


**Free.**

FlorMorada

**I do NOT own Victorious.**

* * *

You shiver as you feel a sudden breeze hit your face, hugging your arms around your body. It's freezing tonight. Why you'd chosen to come out here _today_ of all days, you have no idea.

You quickly run a hand through your hair, attempting to brush your fringe from your face; your eyes are already half blurred with tears and a curtain of hair won't help them. Zipping your jacket up to the top and tugging your sleeves down, holding onto them, you walk further, slowly. You can just about make out the waves of the sea now. You stare down from the cliff.

_It's a long fall._

Sighing, you swing a leg up, then the other, sitting on the edge of the safety railings. You wonder what your friends would be doing if they could see you. Whether or not they would stop you…if they knew what you were going to do.

A 'bad headache' and 'temperature' at school today – that's what you'd gotten away with explaining before the nurse sent you home. It wasn't that you hadn't wanted to _be _at school per say, or in acting class, with Sikowitz, or with your friends. You were just feeling particularly _bad _today. You couldn't take it and you wanted to go home.

The wind makes its presence felt once again, the gust sending the smell of salt into the air. You inhale lightly, staring down at the water once more.

You swear you can see the waves beckoning you. The crashing of them whispering, "_jump_."

Of course, you hadn't _planned _to come here today – for one, it's cold, and two, you don't much like the dark, but it's October so the Sun's already set. It's not pitch black though, but dark enough – the sky's a navy blue and dark clouds fill the space. _If you didn't know you were on the edge of a cliff,_ you laugh, _you'd probably end up walking right off it._

Accidently, of course. As a normal person would.

Though, throw yourself off on _purpose_? Well…why else would you be here?

'_Cat Valentine, the girl who committed suicide_'. You quite like the sound of that. It sure beats _'the psycho girl'_ or _'the bipolar chick'_, or whatever else you're sure they all call you.

Bitches.

It's not your fault that your mother died of cancer when you were nine, and you were diagnosed with depression three years later, at twelve. That, apparently, you had 'moderate to severe' anxiety, and that's why you found it hard to talk to friends - people in _general_. That, at fourteen, without a mother and only an angry brother and withdrawn father in your life, all you could turn to was self-harm. It's not your fault. You didn't _choose_ to feel this way.

And it's not your fault that you hate your life either. You've just chosen to end it.

A vibration. You can feel your left jeans pocket vibrating. Lucky you've sat up here so often, sudden jolts don't make you lose balance – you're not ready to fall off _just _yet. You pull your PearPhone from your pocket and slide your finger over the lock screen. _**13 missed calls, 9 new messages**._

_Cat, are you alright? I heard you left school during your theatre make-up class. – _**_Robbie _**_[two hours ago]._

_Hi, Cat, apparently you're sick…text back so I know you're okay. :) – _**_André _**_[two hours ago]._

_Caaatt, why didn't you tell me you were leaving school? I would have dropped you home! :( – _**_Tori _**_[one hour, forty-six minutes ago]._

_Hey, Cat, sorry you're feeling ill. Hope you're back in a couple days.__– **Jade **__[one hour, eighteen minutes ago]._

_Cat, we've all called you and you haven't answered any of us! – _**_Beck _**_[one hour, nine minutes ago]._

_Cat, Dad wants you home before dark. Apparently you were let out of school early 'cause you're sick, so I don't know where the hell you are. I'm your brother, not you're almighty protector – get back so Dad can get off my case. – _**_Braden _**_[fifty-two minutes ago]._

_Cat, what the hell? Answer your phone! – _**_Beck _**_[forty-three minutes ago]._

_The one time I actually _want _you to text me back, you don't? Please answer, Cat. - **Jade **[thirty-six minutes ago]._

_Cat? – _**_Beck _**_[twenty-eight minutes ago]._

_Cat, I'm coming to find you. – _**_Beck _**_[thirteen minutes ago]._

Well…your friends can't _see _you, to try and stop you…they certainly seem worried though.

Especially Beck.

You slide over to '_**missed** **calls**'_. All from your friends also. Your phone's been on silent, that's why you hadn't answered them, but you'd rather be on your own anyway when you're feeling like _this. _If you were with your friends, they'd notice your sadness, and if it somehow slipped out that you wanted to kill yourself, they'd do something stupid like _talk you out of it._

Before you even have time to tap '_reply_ ', or think about whether or not you even _want _to, your phone is vibrating again. It's Beck, calling.

You reluctantly press '_answer'_. If you could, maybe you might have said 'hi', but you're scared the words will just end up as sobs.

"Cat, where the hell are you?" You stay silent as you hear Beck's loud voice on the other end of the phone. "I went to your house and your brother told me you weren't there. You're sick – I thought you were going home!" You did go home. Firstly, to drop your schoolbooks. Then to put your blade in your bag, and leave that note on your bedroom door. "I went to your room, Cat; what's that crap on that post-it note about being '_done'_? You '_can't do this anymore' – _can't do _what_?"

You stay silent.

"Cat?"

You take a breath. "Beck…you know I told you I had some problems in the past, and…I told you they went away?"

"…Yes? About feeling…_'bad'_, as you phrased it?"

"Yes…bad. Well, it hasn't gone, Beck. It never even left. And I can't take it anymore."

You hear as Beck exhales on the other end. You can almost see his facial expression; eyebrow half raised, eyes, dark and worried... "You can't take _what_, Cat? You're haven't been answering any of us. If you're upset, you can, like…talk to us, okay? Just, where are you?"

You sigh. He'll know where you are. He just has to think back to what you once said, just a while back. "Wait…are you by the coast, Cat?"

Looks like he's got it.

"The one with the pebble beach, and those cliffs?" Again, you're silent. "The one with the really high cliff, and we were looking up at it one day, and you were saying jumping off it would be such an easy way to kill…your…s-"

He doesn't even finish the sentence. You've realised he's realised; you know it. Oh well. It isn't even just today you've felt like this, you've felt like this for as long as you can remember.

Nothing, no one, can stop you now.

You slide off the railings and walk backwards a little, bending down to the ground and unzipping your backpack. You almost forget Beck is still on the phone. He's seemingly silent in shock, before saying,

"Cat. I don't want you to do what I'm dreading you're doing. Wherever you are, stop. Whatever you're doing, Cat, stop."

You pull a long, slim knife from your bag. You've never used this once before. You've been saving it…saving it for this. "I'm sorry, Beck. I can't."

"Cat…I'm coming to find you."

You zip your backpack closed again, walking, again, towards the railings. "Do what you want, Beck. I'm sorry, but I really don't care anymore. Come here and you'll find me if you're in time. If not, then…" You balance your phone on the railings, gingerly running your finger across the blade. "Then I guess you're too late."

You hear an engine start; Beck's obviously got into his car. "Cat, I won't let you do this. I'm coming, okay? Just…please don't, Cat, _please."_

You pick up the phone, and hold it to your ear again. "I can't _not_, Beck, I told you. I'm sorry. I'm…I'm just done."

You end the call. You shakily slide the back cover off, pull out the phone's battery and throw it out into the water. You appreciate his care, the care they'd _all_ have if they knew this, but you don't want it; you don't want them to get caught up in this.

It's your battle, your mind war. Not theirs.

You leave your empty phone on the ground, and walk forwards, away from the railing, until you are on the actual edge of the cliff. You sit down and swing your legs back and forth a little, as if you're a kid on a high chair, the knife gripped tight in your hand. You watch as the moon reflects a dim light off from it, and slowly bring it down to your left wrist.

Beck knows where you are now, and if he makes calls, someone will be down there in the water to save you.

_Doing this will guarantee that even if you don't drown, you'll still be dead._

You press the blade against your skin and quickly swipe it across, immediately feeling the warm blood on your arm, nothing like the pathetic amount that would rise to the surface when you cut yourself. No, that was just for relief. This is to end it _all._You drag the knife across again, the blood flow increasing…hearing yourself think this, you realise how stupid it all sounds, like some stupid, angsty fan fiction. You let out a laugh. Your head already feels light.

You grip the knife in your other hand, and bring the knife across the opposite wrist.

At this rate, you won't even have to jump.

* * *

"Cat!"

You hear a voice in the distance…or, perhaps not even 'distance'. Everything just sounds off, kind of distorted. You manage to turn your head around, and see a tall, slim figure a few meters away from you…Beck.

"Cat, what are you-" He stares at the knife, your bloody hand, bloody wrists. "Cat… Oh. My-"

You slowly stand up, and turn to fully face him. "I told you, Beck. I'm done." You walk backwards a little, now ridiculously close to the literal _edge_. You think you see Beck coming closer towards you…you can't see, your vision's clouded. Blood loss, tears…you don't know, you just can't see. You don't want to see. You turn away from Beck again, and look up at the sky. "I'm ready, I'm ready to end this!" you shout into the distance. "The hurting, the pain, the darkness – I want to end it all! I'm ending it! I've ended it all!"

You hear his footsteps as he comes even closer towards you.

"Come any closer, Beck, and I'll jump _now."_

"C…Cat!"

You hear the pain in his voice. You don't want to hear it. "No! No more Cat!" You press your hands against your ears, feeling the blood run down past your elbows. "I'm not 'Cat' anymore, I'm _leaving_! I'm leaving the world and that's final!"

"Cat, I called 911 and they'll be here in, like, a minute! They can help you, Cat; I don't know what the hell is wrong with you, but I can help you! Just stop, Cat, _please!"_

"It's done, Beck! Can't you see? I'm bleeding and soon I'll be drowning, unless I hit something on the way down which will make this quicker anyway." You turn around to face him for the last time. "Thank you, Beck. Thank you for caring. I know that if I stopped, I walked back towards you, you and the doctors would help me, you'd save me…"

"Yes! So come, Cat, come! I can save you!"

"…But I don't _want _to be saved, Beck. Yeah, I know _you'll_ save _me_. But no one will ever be able save me from myself."

"What? Cat! What does that mean?!"

You give him a small smile. "Goodbye, Beck. Say goodbye to the others for me; tell them I'll miss them, but they don't have to miss me."

"Ca-"

"Don't forget me though, please don't forget me, Beck."

"No, Cat!"

"I...I won't forget you."

**…**

And then you're falling. You see the bright flash of an ambulance, Beck's terrified face, a dozen paramedics, but it's too late; you're already gone. Your eyes are closed but you can picture the sky above you, the beckoning waves not too far below you. The wind blows you hair up against your face, and the blood from the cuts on both your wrists feels cold. You're moving so fast through the air. If you weren't about to die…this would have been fun!

It sort of _is _fun though. Finally.

You were twelve when you'd first dreamed of this…you'd just never had the guts to do it. Your friends, your excuse of a family – you couldn't kill yourself because of them. But, you chuckled slightly, _fuck them._They didn't understand this! They thought you were doing this as a cry for help – no. Sure, help would have been great, when you were _twelve_. But over five years, more than just 'needing help' has taken over your life.

These years of hurt, and loneliness, and pain. 'Help' couldn't end all that. Nor could family, or friends, or a freaking _mental hospital_.

There was only one way you could 'help' yourself.

And that was this. Slitting your wrists open. Jumping. Falling.

Killing yourself.

Setting yourself free.

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

…**Review?**

…

**FlorMorada.**


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